


Just one drink

by elfhybrid



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drinking Games, Drinking to Cope, M/M, Multi, Post-War, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 19:28:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3459095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfhybrid/pseuds/elfhybrid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter, after the Wizard war, finds himself returning more and more to a muggle pub in need of a drink, and peace and quiet. After the war, everyone wanted a piece of him, even more than they had when he was young. He felt like he was pushed and pulled in more directions than during the war,and in that one muggle pub where he can sit in his corner, he feels at ease.<br/>One particularly rough night, Harry is joined by a familiar face. Not the friendliest one, though...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just one drink

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own these characters.  
> J.K. Rowling is the Queen of the Potteriverse, I just play around in it.  
> No money is being made off of this fanfic, I am not that disrespectful.  
> This is a work in progress, no idea how often I will update. You've been warned.

Harry sat, hand hovering over the almost empty glass of one of tonight's many, many drinks. He had been coming here for a few months in a row. No particular day of the week, but after a rough day, he went here to sit in peace and well, he couldn't call it quiet, but the murmur of the crowd didn't bother him, as long as it didn't murmur about  _him._

The war had ended, horribly, with too many dead, but Tom Riddle, as Harry had come to call him after the war, was dead, and wouldn't be coming back. Not that there wasn't still evil in the world, but they had gotten the worst, most dangerous wizard and most of his followers, and that was coming a long way. Harry wasn't going to let a name shaped with fear continue to be spoken in hushed voices or in codes. He had been born Tom Riddle, and that's how they ought to remember him.   
  
Harry let his gaze sweep over the almost full pub, rowdy men and silent drinkers, like himself, took up most of the tables. He couldn't recognize any of them, even though atleast a few others must be regulars as well. No one seemed to pay him any attention. He loved that. It was solitude, but not sitting-in-the-dark and brooding kind of solitude. There was the buzz and sound of people, the occasional sound of broken glass and 'OY!' was comforting. It wasn't big or grand or dangerous, it was just... people.

One would think that after the wizarding world became safe again, Harry would want no other thing than to be in it, live magic, breathe magic, learn everything and be with his friends, but he blamed himself for the deaths of his loved ones, and everyone seemed to want something of him, and he couldn't say no, not really. It would be small things, tokens, autographs and pictures, and that made him feel inflated, like Gilderoy. But if he didn't do it, it felt even worse. Why be so rude as to refuse them that one little thing? Except that it wasn't one little thing,it was one little thing from everyone. Harry went to get another drink, and as he returned to his table, he wobbled slightly. That would be his last drink, he figured. And then back to his flat.

He had lived, for a short while, with the Weasleys, but the void after Fred was too much to handle. The whole house reeked of sorrow and grief, and he felt an exclusion he enver had experienced with the Weasleys before. He hadn't spoken to Ginny in a while, a week, perhaps. They were..together? Not? It didn't seem to matter as much as it had. He loved her, but in a slow, steady stream-kind of way, not a infatuated or swimming with emotions kind of way. She was his friend, and he cared. They had slept together, once, right after the war. An error they both regretted. He had wanted it to be a moment, binding them together forever, something magical and beautiful and filled with love, but what it was, was dirty, and sweaty, and awkward, and short. A grief-filled moment of managing your frustrations in the entirely wrong way. It felt cheap and rotten, and after it happened, they hadn't spoken for three days. The glass in his hand was empty, he couldn't remember even taking a sip. He got halfway up, when a hand placed on this shoulder, belonging to someone he'd hoped to avoid for the reminder of his days, pushed him back down on his seat.Draco Malfoy towered over him.

"Just one more drink, Potter. Sit." 

 


	2. A tall glass

Harry did sit, but only because he didn't want to make a scene. Or that's what he told himself.  
The few times he'd gotten a glimpse of Malfoy had been in the Wizengamot, in the post-war trials. He'd gotten off easy, of course, like so many others, but Harry had watched his confession and thought he saw actual remorse for what he had done.

Harry glanced up at him, but said nothing. Malfoy nodded to himself, and put his cloak down in the opposite seat. "Just one drink, Potter, I swear." Harry nodded. Malfoy left his cloak with Harry. Naturally, his wand had to be concealed on his person, or so Harry presumed. Malfoy was speaking to the barkeep, leaning over to be heard over the buzzing of people. He looked almost like a muggle, nothing about him said 'wizard', when he didn't have his cloak on. Harry looked at Malfoy, just looking for details and any sign of ...something. Anything. Malfoys short, ruffled hair - as blonde as it ever was, black jeans and a dark wool sweater, he couldn't see if it was black or dark blue, didn't point him in any direction. Malfoy smiled at something the barkeep said. He looked almost nice. Like a nice guy, Harry corrected himself. But then Malfoy pushed his sleeves up, and Harry saw the dark mark on his arm. 

As Malfoy came back, carrying two large glasses, with what seemed like whiskey in them, Harry was halfway into a fit of rage. He composed himself, as Malfoy sat down, accepting one of the drinks. He glanced at the mark again, noticing a scar, white, healed, running from the wrist and straight through it. Malfoy noticed, and pulled his sleeves back down,covering it. "You're probably wondering how I can still have that mark on me, after ..everything.", Malfoy said. Harry didn't answer. He had found, when you stay silent, people often tell you more than they plan to. "I kept it as a reminder. The only way I could have gotten rid of it, was to hide it in a bigger tattoo, and it felt" Malfoy seemed to search for a word, "cowardly." They were silent for a bit. Harry kept fiddling with his glass. "I don't want to pretend I was someone better than I was." Harry looked at Malfoy, a certain strained tone of voice he recognized. He blames himself, Harry thought. A small part of him thought 'well he should blame himself. He should suffer.' But looking at Malfoy, he couldn't bring himself to add to his pain. He knew that feeling too well. He cleared his throat, and raised his glass somewhat. "You sound like a Gryffindor." Malfoy relaxed visibly. "To bravery." Harry held his glass up, to toast with Malfoy's. 

"To bravery."


	3. Closing hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rude awakening.

Malfoy did say just one drink. So why had he insisted on another? Harry didn't really know. They had spoken for a little while longer, about non-threatening things. Harry did feel Malfoy had more to say, but were holding back. Maybe he was afraid, maybe he didn't know how to start. All Harry knew was that when Malfoy had risen to leave, Harry had grabbed his hand, and asked him to stay. "One more, Malfoy." It felt safe, somehow. Known. And suddenly, the pub was closing. They hadn't talked about important things, just random topics, sometimes spurred by events on neighbouring tables.

Harry should perhaps have taken more care, but the sweet calm of the buzz that he knew would make the night easier was so soothing. Then the buzz turned into being drunk. More drunk than usual, even. Shitfaced, would probably be the right term.   
  


*

He vaguely remembered going back to his apartment, him and Malfoy supporting each other like drinking buddies do. He didn't remember this comfortably warm body next to his. He froze momentarily. Blinked a few times. The glasses were still on his nose, his clothes were still on. He exhaled slightly out of relief. It wasn't light out, but dawn was coming, the earliest rays of sun kissing the walls and revealing the cobwebs in the corners. Still dizzy, he turned on his side. He knew it had to be Malfoy there, next to him, but he couldn't hold back a little yelp of shock. It was just too weird. "Malfoy", he said. He nudged Malfoy gently in the ribs. Malfoy mumbled in his sleep, and turned towards him. Harrys hand landed on Malfoys abdomen, directly on the warm, soft skin where his shirt had slid up. Harry swallowed, a warmth rapidly spreading in him. Embarrasment washed over him, as he noticed Malfoy was smirking. He quickly removed his hand. "I might still be drunk, Potter, but I'm not _that_ drunk." Malfoy stretched, comfortably, like a cat, shirt rising just a tad further up. Harry closed his eyes. The heat in his cheeks didn't subside for a bit. Malfoy chuckled, and he felt himself flush again. "Saint Potter. I do believe the rumours were true after all." Malfoys voice was unbearably close. The murmur came from a place deep down in Malfoys throat, almost a growl, like two animals, close to jump at the first sign of danger. Harry didn't move, didn't speak, almost didn't breathe, he didn't know why, but he knew he couldn't risk it. This wasn't just anyone, this wouldn't happen again, this peculiar, odd thing, this vibe, and he was almost, almost on the verge of opening his eyes, when Malfoy spoke again, softly. "I love it when you look all innocent like that. Fucking saint Potter." The soft growl made Harry tremble. His lips brushed with Malfoys, first softly, then Malfoy grabbed him, pulled him into it, rolled on top of him, pinned him down, . The kiss lasted a few moments, or a lifetime, Harry couldn't tell. It was the first thing since the war that had made him feel truly alive.

 

The door slammed open. "Harry, mate! Did you forget..." Ron's voice trailed off, and Hermione came right behind him. "Ron, you should knock, I .." Both stopped dead in their tracks as they took in the scene. Hermione, red-cheeked, bemused but with a twinge of concern. Ron was a mask of stone. He gave them a dirty look, really taking it in, before he stomped out, Hermione following in his tracks. 


	4. The hangover

The morning after could not have been more awkward.

Harry stumbled out of bed, Malfoy silently watching. Harry couldn't speak, he was still burning from the kiss. He had never kissed a man before, and he had never kissed anyone quite like that. He fumbled around for a bit, adjusted his clothes, tried to flatten his hair in the mirror - without success, as usual.   
"Need help, Potter? Or are you just dreading 'the talk' ?" Malfoy stood behind him, their eyes meeting in the mirror. Harry blushed, lost for words. "I forgot, we're going on an outing today." Malfoy noticed the deflection and non-answer. He also noticed the antipathy Harry showed towards this outing, though he was probably not even aware it was obvious to anyone. "What outing?" Harry grimaced, painfully aware of how close Malfoy was standing. "It's this war-memorial thing, but it's also for orphans, and press..the Ministry loves it when I go to these things." Malfoy smirked. "Saint Potter. Of course you're going to an orphanage." He reached around Harry and rebuttoned his top two buttons. Harry almost stopped breathing. 

"Eat breakfast with me. With us!" Harry let the words jump out before he could stop himself. Malfoy stopped moving, for a split second, Harry knew he had been taken off guard.  
A slow grin crept up on his face. "I do believe I will. And I'll go to your outing." Harry looked at him in the mirror, the surprise obvious.

"But.. why?" Harry stammered as they walked towards the kitchen. "Put it this way Potter, that was a rather interesting way to wake up."


	5. Breakfast

Ron and Hermione sat on opposite chairs by the kitchen table. Ron didn't meet Harrys eyes, Malfoy sauntered in behind him. The awkward silence was dreadful. Draco knew they wanted to talk about what they'd seen, without him, so he asked Harry where the bathroom was. He was almost out the door when Ron wheezed "You slept with _him_?!" He couldn't resist poking his head back in the kitchen. "Tut-tut, Ronald. Don't you know? A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell." He noticed the flicker of a smile on Grangers face, a half-victory at least. Harry looked like he would produce a thunderstorm right then and there. 

Ron looked incredulously at Harry. "Is he serious? Have you shagged Malfoy?" Hermione tried to calm Ron down. Harry felt a spark of anger in all the shame and confusion. "No, I didn't shag him, Ron. Not that it would be your business to say anything about it, if I had." The stern look made Ron sour. The Lavender incident that was not to be discussed in front of Hermione made him extra grumpy. Hermione knew, of course she did. She had retaliated with a Bulgarian incident of her own, which Ron were to know nothing about as well. As long as everyone just pretended it didn't happen, it would all be fine.

"So you didn't shag him, fine, but you were in bed with him, and we all saw you snog!" Rons voice raised a bit, his face starting to grow red. "Yes, I'm not going to argue that, you saw it, fine. I still don't have to explain myself to you about it." Harry was defiant, and embarrassed. Maybe he hadn't shagged Malfoy. But what if they hadn't been interrupted? Would he have stopped? Would either of them have stopped? "Harry.." Hermiones soft voice with a concerned note roused him from his thoughts. " You smell like a bar threw up on you. Did you get drunk with Malfoy yesterday?" Harry nodded. He could hear Malfoy finish his showering, and tried his best not to think too much about it. "But Harry, we're leaving soon - and today of all days.." Her disappointed tone upset him, more than it hurt him. Did she really not understand it? A drawl came from behind him. "That's probably precisely why. Today of all days. Sorry Potter, can I trouble you for a change in attire? Mine was rather soaked in beer." Malfoy draped in a towel, still beads of water running down his pale skin. Harry almost lost his breath, but managed to contain himself. He nodded to Malfoy. "Sure, pick whatever. My clothes are in the dresser by the bed." Hermione looked very determinedly down into her cup of coffee. "I am making breakfast, for everyone. Would you like some toast, Malfoy?"Malfoy smirked and Ron looked like he would explode. "Yes, thank you, Granger, that would be lovely." His equally obvious over-courteous tone came with a side of mischief. 

"Harry, you reek. Go get in the shower, get dressed, we'll eat, get rid of Malfoy and then we'll leave." Hermione started to make breakfast. "Malfoy's coming." Ron made the best disgusted face he could,as Harry went into the bathroom. "I just lost my apetite." 


End file.
